


Of Dying Stars

by doudareva12



Series: Of Dying Stars and Sand Storms [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Crack Treated Seriously, Fialleril, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by..., Mythology - Freeform, Non-Linear Narrative, OC's - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Insert, Slavery, Spies & Secret Agents, Tatooine Slave Culture, Worldbuilding, referenced Amatakka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doudareva12/pseuds/doudareva12
Summary: This fic started as a silly idea in the head of a sleep deprived idiot but it sticked so I decided to give it form. It will be probably not in a chronological order, and a lot of rambling, so bear with me please.Also this is my first fiction ever and English is not my first language, apologies in advance for my mistakes.
Series: Of Dying Stars and Sand Storms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682857
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Of Dying Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a silly idea in the head of a sleep deprived idiot but it sticked so I decided to give it form. It will be probably not in a chronological order, and a lot of rambling, so bear with me please.  
> Also this is my first fiction ever and English is not my first language, apologies in advance for my mistakes.

“It is dangerous to exist in the world. To exist is to be threatened. We must live with threats.” - Adam Levin, The Instructions

1.

The hot wind was blowing right in her face, the sand slowly infiltrating under her clothes, in her mouth, face, eyes… engulfing her being in his deadly embrace.

Under the burning of the unrepentant sun and the shadows of the three moons, she let herself become one with the wind in a pitiful attempt to disappear inside the storm and escape the Damocles sword hanging on her (admittedly) short life.

Drying lips silently laughing in mirthless irony, the small girl contemplated her existence, an existence that should not by any means be possible, an existence capable of creating ripples in the main fabric of the known space. A curse.

She surveyed with clinical interest the thought of ending everything then and there, a last chance of stopping before even the beginning of the strange tale.

‘… and Ekkreth became a bird and flew away, laughing as they went, and Depur was left alone, tricked, with no slaves left.’

"What were the odds," the girl finally spoke voice horse and broken. "This should not _be_ …" her little fingers tracing the scars on her hands and back, "this is contrary to _every law of logic alone_."

The girl started to walk slowly, and the desert whispered and sang, the sand was ground against her bones, the wind a strong hand, and the universe spinning, a _promise_.

She was returning back to the beating, the Masters, the cries, the hunger, the soft words from the Grandmother of the Quarters with a new knowledge of her being and a silent vow to the skies and Ar-Amu.

She will not die as a pitiful starved dog, _no_. She will fight tooth and nails for her survival even if that meant to become _Kol-depuan_! She will bind her time and live, after all she was the child of Ekkreth the Sky-walker. 

2.

Her memories of the _Before_ were coming back drop after drop, fuzzy, edges blurred, and frustrating in their slowness. The _After_ was clearer but not by much. She could recall bribes of unknowns languages, images, landscapes so different than the dry and harsh sands of Tatooine, songs, stories. 

It was the Grandmother who taught the girl her namesake, the Sky-Walker, the freer of slaves. In the eyes of the Masters she was but another nameless face, another tool. Only good to be used or sold. No better than a _fucking object_.

Her treacherous mind told her that there was maybe others children of Ekkreth who were free, who will never really know the fate of those without freedom and a bomb inched in their skin. The endless hours of work under the heavy heat and the constant hunger eating your mind. She wasn’t even sure if Ekkreth had his eyes open, seeing himself fully after years of submission, _she didn’t know anything_. 

What a terrifying thought.

Her future gambled on suppositions and hope (the little that was left anyway). 

She gazed at the moons and the stars, taunting her with empty words and tales of greatness as well as death. 

The girl thought of a boy living with the last of his kin in the desert watched by an old liar (one of the few survivors of an order long gone), a girl living in luxury and affection in another world far from here and a man (puppettoolpainpain _pain_ ) prisoner of his own body, leached by a monstrous shell who called himself man. 

The desert sang. 

She burned her lips on the tzai. 

_The Tatooine slave culture was inspired by the wonderful Fialleril:_

_\- In Tatooine myths, Ekkreth is a shapechanging trickster who frees slaves and humbles slaveowner named Depur but also the name means "Sky-Walker" in Amatakka (the language of slaves)_

_\- Kol-depuan means “unfettered,” or possibly “masterless,” and refers specifically to a person who has taken their freedom by force or trickery, and most specifically, to a person who has survived the detonation of their slave implant_


End file.
